


Where Were We?

by guilty_pleasures_abound



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Car Sex, Condoms, F/M, First Time, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Pet Names, Sex in a Car, Swooning Over Stans: A Grunkle Dating Simulator, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-11-01 22:08:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17875739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guilty_pleasures_abound/pseuds/guilty_pleasures_abound
Summary: Instead of letting Robbie's interruption in "Swooning Over Stans" stop the sexy car activities, you brush it off and get back to it.[Female reader]





	Where Were We?

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Swooning Over Stans game, and by far the best part of it is how steamy things can get in Stan's car after disco night. If you make the right choices and end up horizontal with him on the front seat of the El Diablo, you know that Robbie ruins all the sexiness. So instead of letting his interruption throw you off the sexy groove, this posits a way things _could_ have gone.
> 
> The text in bold is directly from the game, everything else is my very self-indulgent smut.

**You don’t know who leans in first, or more, or anything, but suddenly Stan’s hand is cupping your face and his lips are on yours.**

**It’s sweet, but somewhat clumsy, as his glasses remind you of their existence by hitting you in the cheek as he leans in close. You can’t help but hum against his lips.**

**—And oh god, you forgot to breathe.**

**You part, both of you breathing just a bit heavier than before. Stan’s big dumb grin is accompanied by pink-dusted cheeks.**

**“Was that—are you... okay?”**

**“I think we could do better.”**

**Stan laughs, cupping your face and bringing his lips to yours once again. He’s more confident now, more sure with his hands. This kiss lasts longer, and shows no sign of stopping anytime soon, but from this angle it’s still a bit awkward, side by side like this.**

**Stan makes a noise of surprise against your mouth as you grab him by the collar and drag him down with you to the seat, but then he laughs and you can feel his smile on yours.**

**The kiss deepens before Stan breaks it to instead kiss along your neck, your collarbone, his stubble feeling absolutely wonderful on your skin.**

**Your fingertips have ruffled his hair beyond repair at this point, and you have to admit you prefer it this way. You get caught up in this moment—in his embrace, his kisses, each more intoxicating than the last, and his hand caressing your sides and waist in a way that makes Stan’s name leave your lips—**

**HOOOONK**

**You both jolt, your heart flipping and Stan’s head shooting up at the noise so fast that it hits the roof of the car with an embarrassing CLUNK.**

**He swears furiously and rubs his head as he looks for the source of the disruption.**

**“What the—”**

**“SORRY MR PINES!!!”**

**You bolt up at the voice, distant and slightly echoing. Stan practically growls, pinching the bridge of his nose and hiding his face in shame.**

**“Sweet Moses...”**

**“IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, WE SWEAR!!”**

**Oh god...**

**Stan flips on his headlights to illuminate—**

**—Another car with two people inside it. Directly across from you. At Lookout Point.**

**It must’ve pulled up while you two were... not looking.**

**Stan kicks open his door so hard and fast you’re amazed it’s still on its hinges as he steps out.**

**“I’M GONNA KILL YOU, ROBBIE!”**

**Robbie?**

**“Are you serious...?!”**

**Sure enough, the figure in the driver’s seat, scared out of his absolute wits, fits the description of an angsty-looking emo teen. There’s a girl in the seat next to him with purple hair who seems to be trying to hide behind her phone as she slaps the boy’s shoulder.**

**“W-WE WERE JUST LEAVING, WE DIDN’T SEE YOUR CAR WHEN—”**

**“I DON’T REMEMBER YOUR LAST NAME RIGHT NOW ROBBIE, BUT YOU’RE GONNA HOPE I NEVER FIND OUT! YOU’RE DEAD, YA HEAR ME, KID?! DEAD!”**

**The other car screeches the rest of the way out of sight at that, a couple more accidental honks and a final “I’M SO SORRY” being thrown your way as it goes.**

**Ah. That was... absolutely mortifying.**

**And although that’s definitely the most embarrassed you’ve ever been, you kind of feel bad for the guy. Imagine being on the other end of this situation.**

**Stan flops back into his seat, swearing under his breath for a moment before sighing. He rubs his face with his hands before looking to you.**

**“Well... that happened.”**

**“He seems nice.”**

**Stan grumbles, shutting his car door and starting up the engine.**

**“Can’t even drive to a cliff and get any privacy in this town. Guess we should start heading back.”**

**He offers you an apologetic smile.**

You bite your lip, thinking, your eyes drifting over Stan’s features. His ruffled hair, the rumpled fabric of his shirt, the noticeable flush on his cheeks.

You know your own cheeks are still hot, partly from the embarrassment of what just happened, of course, but also because less than two minutes ago, you had Stan’s mouth on your neck and his hands trailing teasingly up your sides. You realize that you still want that, despite the little snafu you both experienced.

“Do we have to?” you ask shyly, and Stan’s eyes grow bigger.

“Are you... sure?” he asks in return, rubbing the back of his head. “That didn’t... uh... put you off?”

“That was a trainwreck,” you chortle, burying your face in your hands for a moment and giving your head a little shake with an embarrassed laugh. You let your hands drop back into your lap a moment later, giving him a smile. “But I’m not going to let it ruin the night if you don’t.”

You scoot a little closer, reaching for the ignition and turning the car and the lights back off, and Stan smiles at you like you're the best thing he's ever seen. “Don’t think anything can really _ruin_ tonight, babydoll.”

His voice is warm when he says it, but you notice his arm slowly curling around your shoulders again as you scoot even closer, ignoring the squeak of the leather seat.

“But it can get better, don’t you think?” Your fingers trace along the V in the front of his shirt as you say it, and that seems to be all the convincing he needs as he chuckles, tightening his arm around you as he leans in to kiss you again.

“So much better.” His purred words vibrate against your lips, and you sigh, fully sliding your palm into the opening of his shirt to rest flat against his skin, just under his collarbone.

Then it’s more of that amazing kissing, the awkwardness you experienced fading away (interruption? What interuption?), replaced by the return of heat to your body. This time when you pull Stan down, he goes eagerly, hiking both your legs up across his lap.

“Just so I—uh—know where we stand, so to speak...” he mumbles against the underside of your jaw, one of your hands petting the soft hair on the back of his head as the other scratches lightly through the thick chest hair under his collar, “...how exactly far are we going here, kid?”

You feel yourself furiously blush at the question, and it feels like his face is just as heated where it’s pressed against your neck. That was a very good question.

You bite your lip, looking up at the roof of the car... Fuck it. Both life and your remaining time in Gravity Falls is too short to not seize the moment and take advantage of the El Diablo’s bench seat, not to mention the secluded location.

“That depends on whether either of us had the foresight to bring a condom,” you find yourself saying, your blush intensifying. “I’m afraid I didn’t.”

Stan gives a little moan against your neck, then ducks his head down to press his face against your shoulder for a moment, seemingly collecting himself after your rather bold statement. You completely sympathize, you’re shocked it came out of your mouth too.

When he pulls back, he looks absolutely sheepish, leaning on his elbows over you before reaching for the glove compartment and pulling it open. After rummaging inside for a moment, he withdraws his hand, a foil packet between his fingers.

“I... didn’t want to _assume_ anything,” he says quickly, hovering over you looking a little worried. “But... you know. Being prepared and... all that.”

His preparedness has spared you both from a tricky situation, and you smile as you take it from his hand before tucking it in the door handle above your head for safekeeping until it’s needed.

“Please just assure me that thing hasn’t been sitting in here since you bought the car.” You raise an eyebrow at him and he laughs, looking far less nervous now that he knows you’re clearly not offended.

“No, definitely not. Got it when I went into town today.”

“Then we’re good.” And you are. You are _excellent_ , as a matter of fact, because Stan chuckles as he leans down to kiss you again, his hand going warmly to your waist.

A soft moan escapes your throat as he deepens the kiss, your hand trailing gently up from his chest to his neck, cupping the side of it, his quick pulse beating under your palm.

You give a sudden little huff when his glasses poke you for the second time that evening, and you break away from the kiss to reach for his face, removing them and folding the arms down carefully before reaching up to put them on the dashboard.

He laughs quietly, exaggeratingly squinting at you and clumsily groping your waist. “Hey, where’d you go? Can’t see a thing!”

“Oh shush,” you giggle, squirming a bit under his squeezing hand, tugging gently on his hair as you press up for another kiss. “Put that smart mouth to better use.”

His grin against your lips is contagious, but his hand on your side firms its touch, his thumb rubbing gently at your bottommost rib. Then you shiver, his mouth trailing down your neck as his hand moves slowly up, the scratch of his stubble sending sparks through your nervous system almost as much as his palm finding your breast, squeezing his fingers lightly with a little moan.

“You're gorgeous, sweetheart,” he murmurs, making you flush a little deeper at the heartfelt compliment. “Just gorgeous...”

You don't know about _that_ , but it's hard not to love his sincerity, especially when his mouth traces along your collarbone as his thumb rubs a circle over your nipple through your dress.

He gives a little grunt of protest when you push on his shoulders, pushing him back enough for you to shove the sleeves of your dress down; you knew the wide, v-ing neck on this thing would come in handy.

It's wide enough for you to push the fabric down to your waist, completely exposing your bra, and Stan makes a little choked sound.

“Too much for you?” you whisper with a little teasing smile, biting your lip as his eyes dart all over your chest, taking in the lacy fabric framing your skin greedily.

He doesn't answer; whether because he's chosen to ignore the quip or because he was too hypnotized by your reveal you're not sure. All you know is that a moment later he's licking just above the top of your bra; hot, wet tongue electric on your skin and making you gasp.

His hand comes back up to join his mouth, and a moment later he's shoving the bra down too, just enough for you to spill out of it and into his waiting hand and lips.

You gasp when he takes one nipple between his teeth while his fingers pinch gently at the other, the dual sensation making heat race down your spine to pool between your legs.

“Oh my God, Stan...” you breathe, and his answering moan—dreamy and hot as his tongue laves at where he had pressed in his teeth—makes you throb.

He doesn't stop, simply switching the attention of his mouth from one side to the other, making you squirm with little gasps and whines.

You squeeze your legs together, turned on and wanting more, and you run your hands over him restlessly in encouragement.

He's so solid; his back and shoulders firm and strong, his arms dense with muscle. Being on a ship for a year will do that to you, you suppose, and you certainly can't complain.

Then his hand strokes down your side, your hip, your thigh, until he finds the edge of your dress with his fingers, pushing his hand slowly under the fabric.

Your heart is pounding, surely he must hear it, but you spread your legs anyway, angling your knee out to rest against the bottom of the steering wheel as the other hikes up a little onto his hip. He moans in answer, hurriedly going for the waistline of your panties, clearly attuned to your desire for his touch.

You clasp a hand over your own mouth when he touches you, his shuddering groan against your chest telling you he's just as effected.

You're already wet, you knew that, but you didn't realize how much until Stan's finger slides easily through your folds with a slick sound.

“God...” he rasps, his finger petting at your opening but not pressing in, just letting his digit get wet with your arousal. “You have no idea how hot this is, baby.”

You squeak behind the hand you still have clasped over your mouth as Stan drags his finger up to the top of your slit, rubbing a slow, gentle circle around your clit. Between that and the way he keeps kissing and gently biting at your breasts, you feel half on edge already.

“Tell me what's good,” he murmurs, raising his head and kissing the back of your hand against your mouth with a little smile. “Tell me what you like.”

You pry your hand away from your mouth with a gasp as he circles your clit again; good, but not what you want, what you need.

Instead of speaking, you reach down for his hand, guiding his finger to rub tight little circles over your clit that make your legs shake.

“God...” he rasps again, watching you avidly, slack-jawed and panting until you tug his head down for a kiss, pressing a desperate little moan against his lips.

He gives you an answering groan, curling his tongue behind your top lip before switching his attention to your bottom one, taking it between his lips for a gentle little suck and a nibble of teeth.

It's fucking _electric_ , the whine pulled from your throat feeling too loud in the confined space of the El Diablo.

“Shit,” he hisses, his hand suddenly disappearing from between your legs. Your moan of disappointment turns into a gasp when he grabs your thigh that's hiked up onto his hip instead, using it to pull you down a little more. You realize why when you suddenly feel distinct hardness against your ass, and Stan hisses again with relief at getting some pressure against what is undoubtedly an aching hard on.

“Fuck, you feel what you do to me?” He ducks his face against your throat as he moans the words, pressing feverish kisses there dizzily.

You do, God, you _do_ ; the hitch of his hips as he dry humps against your ass just making you wetter. Knowing how hard he is, how much he’s aching to fuck you...

You swallow around a whine as you draw his hand back between your legs, and he thankfully tucks his hand back into your underwear with a raspy groan.

His fingers are more intent than ever; rubbing at you with gentle vigor that makes goosebumps break out over your skin.

You clamp a hand over your mouth again as his hips keep grinding against your ass, the rocking motion paired with the ravenous attention to your clit sending you closer and closer to the edge.

“Come on, babygirl, give it to me,” he husks out, followed by a harder, rocking grind of his hips and that's it; you come with a muffled cry, holding tight to his shoulders and shaking like a leaf.

You don't realize you're letting out little whining cries behind your hand until he gently shushes you, cupping a firm hand against your cunt while you come down. There are tremors racing up and down your legs, making them jitter and shake, and Stan's fingers are rubbing just slightly against your opening.

“You good to keep going, honey?” he asks you gently, and you almost laugh. Instead you raise a weak hand above your head, fumbling for the car door handle.

“M'good,” you whisper, clumsy fingers closing around the condom. “God, I'm so good, please fuck me now.”

You've been feeling him rubbing against your ass through his trousers; now you want to feel him rubbing inside you.

He moans as he finally raises his head from your neck and takes the condom from your hand, pressing a fevered kiss to your lips before sitting up.

You bite your lip as you pull your legs up out of his lap so he has room to work, the jingle of his belt buckle making you shiver with anticipation. You can't help but watch through your parted knees as he frees himself with a relieved grunt, then rips the condom wrapper open with his teeth.

God, you're in for it good. Even from the weird angle you're watching from you can see how nice and thick he is, how satisfying he's going to feel pressed inside you.

He lets the condom wrapper carelessly fall to the floor as he shifts to get between your legs, the two of you working together to make it comfortable in the small space. He ends up pushing the seat all the way back so he can get one knee on the floor and the other on the seat, one hand braced on the edge of leather beside your waist as the other pushes your underwear to the side.

“Come on,” you encourage him, trailing your hands down his shoulders and still shirt-clad chest as he switches his grip to his cock to get himself aligned with you. “Wanna feel you.”

He moans at your eager words, looking dazed and amazed above you as he guides himself just inside your opening.

The stretch is good, it's _so good_ , your pussy so wet and relaxed from orgasm that Stan can slide in easily, shuddering and groaning as he buries himself to the hilt.

“Oh fuck, oh _fuck._ ” He groans your name as he scrunches his eyes closed, his hand closing on your hip as he thrusts unevenly for a moment. “Holy shit, baby, that's so good.”

It almost feels silly to be so pleased, but you can't help it, reaching your hands up to undo his shirt as you hike your knees higher on either side of him encouragingly.

He positively growls when you scratch your nails down his chest, and it seems to spur him into a rhythm; short, deep thrusts that are undoubtedly jerking the whole car.

Fuck, you couldn't care less how this might look; the car literally rocking with Stan's thrusts, the windows probably steamed up. Robbie and his girlfriend could come back and watch through the windows for all you care, it just feels so _good_.

Dropping one hand from feeling up his chest to your clit makes it even better, the little bud sensitive from your first orgasm, but you're pretty sure you could convince it to give you a second.

You know it has to be making you go tighter around him, and it shows, his eyes shutting and his tempo increasing. He keeps cursing, and you can feel the sweat on his skin as you scratch gently at his chest with your free hand.

You know your own heart is racing, excitement and arousal making you pant and moan. When he releases your waist and hooks an arm under your knee, pushing it up, elevating your ass off the seat, it all gets even _better_ ; the stretch pulling you tighter around him and angling him _just right_.

“Fucking _fuck!_ ” he suddenly cries out gruffly, his hips sputtering and hitching, and it hits you square in the gut that he's coming inside you.

You chase your second peak furiously in answer, and find it with his last tight grind in, not bothering to muffle your soft cry this time.

Stan shudders and curses again when he feels it, and even though he's done, even though he's probably oversensitive, he keeps rolling his hips to fuck you through it.

When you finally go limp so does he, just barely avoiding crushing you by digging a wobbly elbow into the seat.

You immediately wrap your arms around him, welcoming his heavy weight on top of you and stroking your hands along his back and neck.

“Shit, kid,” he mumbles, his head bowed right next to yours, his breath heavy. “You're goddamn incredible.”

Your blissed out brain loves hearing him praise you like that, and you turn your head to press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

“You're the one who's incredible,” you murmur dreamily, petting the back of his head with one hand and rubbing his wide back with the other.

He chuckles breathily, lifting his head and giving you a content smile before leaning down to capture your mouth in a long, soft kiss.

You hope this isn't the end of your closeness to Stan tonight. You hope that when you collect yourselves and redress for the drive home, it's not the closing curtain on the evening. You hope he invites you to his bed, or allows you to draw him into yours. You hope that in the morning you can straddle his hips and brace your hands on that soft belly of his as you ride him. You hope he rubs his scratchy stubble on the inside of your thighs as he eats you out, until you're a puddle of pleasured goo on the mattress.

You hope for a lot of things, but right now, you just hope you can bask in this wonderful, warm feeling for a little while longer.


End file.
